Today was Sweet G's short therapy day when he only sees his physical therapist, AKA "the mean woman." G loves her dearly and because of that she bears the brunt of his jokes and abuse. Her job and what it requires G to do is the most difficult physically of all his therapy. G's legs are the most affected by his cerebral palsy, therefore that is the most difficult and taxing on his body.
Therapy has been ramped up, so to speak, since his tendon lengthening surgery. We are requiring much more from him and he is seeing his PT twice a week instead of once. The surgery has given G so much more range of motion and has eliminated the muscles fighting each other for control. It sort of evened out his muscle tone by lengthening and therefore weakening muscles that have been stretched tight preventing normal movement.
As I wrote in my post a couple of days ago, G has made remarkable progress lately. Today I asked his therapist if we could try him on a bike the clinic has. The bike is a regular bike but has these amazing training wheels that give it perfect stability like a trike. We thought that by adding straps to the pedals and changing the seat to something with a back and straps it might work. Boy were we ever wrong! We put G on the bike, he sat up and said, "Let go, I can do it all by myself." He had no problem balancing on the regular seat or keeping his feet on the pedals. There was a problem with making it go. His trike is adapted to become hand cranked and he has recently learned to ride his plasma car which propels when you wiggle the steering wheel back and forth so it took us reminding him a few times that wiggling the handlebars does not make it go. He did try so hard to make it move. We were shocked when he stood up on the bike and started saying, "I'm a big man and I can stand up by myself." As if those things weren't enough he had to kick things up another notch when we were about to dismount the bike. I noticed that he only had his hands lightly placed on the handlebar so his therapist asked him if he could clap for himself. He steadied himself, took his hands off for a brief second a couple of times and then he took them off completely and gave himself a round of applause. There were a lot of happy people in that gym today.
So, I bet you can't guess where we went when therapy was over! If you guessed a bike shop a mere three blocks from therapy you are right. I thought that might be best since he kept insisting we borrow the one from the clinic. When I told him we couldn't he replied simply, "We can bring it back before anyone misses it." After all every little boy needs a bike.
Showing posts with label tendon lengthening. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tendon lengthening. Show all posts
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Just What Every Little Boy Needs
Today was Sweet G's short therapy day when he only sees his physical therapist, AKA "the mean woman." G loves her dearly and because of that she bears the brunt of his jokes and abuse. Her job and what it requires G to do is the most difficult physically of all his therapy. G's legs are the most affected by his cerebral palsy, therefore that is the most difficult and taxing on his body.
Therapy has been ramped up, so to speak, since his tendon lengthening surgery. We are requiring much more from him and he is seeing his PT twice a week instead of once. The surgery has given G so much more range of motion and has eliminated the muscles fighting each other for control. It sort of evened out his muscle tone by lengthening and therefore weakening muscles that have been stretched tight preventing normal movement.
As I wrote in my post a couple of days ago, G has made remarkable progress lately. Today I asked his therapist if we could try him on a bike the clinic has. The bike is a regular bike but has these amazing training wheels that give it perfect stability like a trike. We thought that by adding straps to the pedals and changing the seat to something with a back and straps it might work. Boy were we ever wrong! We put G on the bike, he sat up and said, "Let go, I can do it all by myself." He had no problem balancing on the regular seat or keeping his feet on the pedals. There was a problem with making it go. His trike is adapted to become hand cranked and he has recently learned to ride his plasma car which propels when you wiggle the steering wheel back and forth so it took us reminding him a few times that wiggling the handlebars does not make it go. He did try so hard to make it move. We were shocked when he stood up on the bike and started saying, "I'm a big man and I can stand up by myself." As if those things weren't enough he had to kick things up another notch when we were about to dismount the bike. I noticed that he only had his hands lightly placed on the handlebar so his therapist asked him if he could clap for himself. He steadied himself, took his hands off for a brief second a couple of times and then he took them off completely and gave himself a round of applause. There were a lot of happy people in that gym today.
So, I bet you can't guess where we went when therapy was over! If you guessed a bike shop a mere three blocks from therapy you are right. I thought that might be best since he kept insisting we borrow the one from the clinic. When I told him we couldn't he replied simply, "We can bring it back before anyone misses it." After all every little boy needs a bike.
Therapy has been ramped up, so to speak, since his tendon lengthening surgery. We are requiring much more from him and he is seeing his PT twice a week instead of once. The surgery has given G so much more range of motion and has eliminated the muscles fighting each other for control. It sort of evened out his muscle tone by lengthening and therefore weakening muscles that have been stretched tight preventing normal movement.
As I wrote in my post a couple of days ago, G has made remarkable progress lately. Today I asked his therapist if we could try him on a bike the clinic has. The bike is a regular bike but has these amazing training wheels that give it perfect stability like a trike. We thought that by adding straps to the pedals and changing the seat to something with a back and straps it might work. Boy were we ever wrong! We put G on the bike, he sat up and said, "Let go, I can do it all by myself." He had no problem balancing on the regular seat or keeping his feet on the pedals. There was a problem with making it go. His trike is adapted to become hand cranked and he has recently learned to ride his plasma car which propels when you wiggle the steering wheel back and forth so it took us reminding him a few times that wiggling the handlebars does not make it go. He did try so hard to make it move. We were shocked when he stood up on the bike and started saying, "I'm a big man and I can stand up by myself." As if those things weren't enough he had to kick things up another notch when we were about to dismount the bike. I noticed that he only had his hands lightly placed on the handlebar so his therapist asked him if he could clap for himself. He steadied himself, took his hands off for a brief second a couple of times and then he took them off completely and gave himself a round of applause. There were a lot of happy people in that gym today.
So, I bet you can't guess where we went when therapy was over! If you guessed a bike shop a mere three blocks from therapy you are right. I thought that might be best since he kept insisting we borrow the one from the clinic. When I told him we couldn't he replied simply, "We can bring it back before anyone misses it." After all every little boy needs a bike.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Scars
Until recently if you had asked me to tell you the first thing I thought when you said the word scar I would have probably said unattractive or ugly. I might have said hurt, wounded, or damaged.
If you asked me the same question today I would say beautiful, amazing, healed, repaired, strengthened, improved. You may be asking yourself why my answer would be so different. The reason is simple. My Sweet G now, for the first time in his life has about 10 scars on his body. Up until his tendon lengthening surgery his skin was perfect, flawless.
The reason he had no scars on his body at almost eight years old is because of his cerebral palsy (CP). That may not make sense to you so I will explain. CP has robbed G of countless opportunities. He has never taken a step without physically holding onto something for support. He didn't toddle around the living room as a baby. He has never been able to go outside alone, go into the bathroom independently, or get out of his bed without someone there to assist him. He has never felt the wind on his face as he runs through the grass on a spring day. His heart has never raced after a thrilling game of tag. He has never played hide and seek or climbed a tree. When I saw G's unblemished skin I saw all the absence of bumps and bruises he has missed out on because of his CP.
I may sound like a nutcase but I mourn the fact that I have never cleaned up a skinned knee or picked a splinter out of his little finger. Anyone with children knows that a typical child goes through hundreds of bandages. Some are necessary while others only provide comfort or serve as a badge of pride. I still have a vivid image of T sitting on the bathroom counter, his knee skinned and bleeding. He has tears running down his little face as I clean his boo-boo and cover it with a band-aid. I can still smell the disinfectant and the scent of a freshly opened band-aid. I don't have those memories of G.
I caught a glimps of G's scars as we rode in the car today. What will others think when they see them? I couldn't help comparing G's physical scars to the emotional scars we all carry. In the beginning the thing that caused the scar was painful. Slowly over time healing begins to take place. Soon there is a scar where the damage had been. At first the scar is very obvious but as time passes it fades and becomes less noticeable.
The scars on Sweet G's legs serve as a beacon of hope to me. They remind me that we have new possibilities in front of us. His scars show that he has been improved, stretched farther than in my wildest imagination. He stands taller and prouder than before. The progress he has made is amazing. We are moving in a new direction. Sometimes it gets lonely and a little scary but we stay together and find strength to make it through another day. Each day gets brighter as we move along knowing that we did the right thing even though it wasn't easy.
If you asked me the same question today I would say beautiful, amazing, healed, repaired, strengthened, improved. You may be asking yourself why my answer would be so different. The reason is simple. My Sweet G now, for the first time in his life has about 10 scars on his body. Up until his tendon lengthening surgery his skin was perfect, flawless.
The reason he had no scars on his body at almost eight years old is because of his cerebral palsy (CP). That may not make sense to you so I will explain. CP has robbed G of countless opportunities. He has never taken a step without physically holding onto something for support. He didn't toddle around the living room as a baby. He has never been able to go outside alone, go into the bathroom independently, or get out of his bed without someone there to assist him. He has never felt the wind on his face as he runs through the grass on a spring day. His heart has never raced after a thrilling game of tag. He has never played hide and seek or climbed a tree. When I saw G's unblemished skin I saw all the absence of bumps and bruises he has missed out on because of his CP.
I may sound like a nutcase but I mourn the fact that I have never cleaned up a skinned knee or picked a splinter out of his little finger. Anyone with children knows that a typical child goes through hundreds of bandages. Some are necessary while others only provide comfort or serve as a badge of pride. I still have a vivid image of T sitting on the bathroom counter, his knee skinned and bleeding. He has tears running down his little face as I clean his boo-boo and cover it with a band-aid. I can still smell the disinfectant and the scent of a freshly opened band-aid. I don't have those memories of G.
I caught a glimps of G's scars as we rode in the car today. What will others think when they see them? I couldn't help comparing G's physical scars to the emotional scars we all carry. In the beginning the thing that caused the scar was painful. Slowly over time healing begins to take place. Soon there is a scar where the damage had been. At first the scar is very obvious but as time passes it fades and becomes less noticeable.
The scars on Sweet G's legs serve as a beacon of hope to me. They remind me that we have new possibilities in front of us. His scars show that he has been improved, stretched farther than in my wildest imagination. He stands taller and prouder than before. The progress he has made is amazing. We are moving in a new direction. Sometimes it gets lonely and a little scary but we stay together and find strength to make it through another day. Each day gets brighter as we move along knowing that we did the right thing even though it wasn't easy.
Scars
Until recently if you had asked me to tell you the first thing I thought when you said the word scar I would have probably said unattractive or ugly. I might have said hurt, wounded, or damaged.
If you asked me the same question today I would say beautiful, amazing, healed, repaired, strengthened, improved. You may be asking yourself why my answer would be so different. The reason is simple. My Sweet G now, for the first time in his life has about 10 scars on his body. Up until his tendon lengthening surgery his skin was perfect, flawless.
The reason he had no scars on his body at almost eight years old is because of his cerebral palsy (CP). That may not make sense to you so I will explain. CP has robbed G of countless opportunities. He has never taken a step without physically holding onto something for support. He didn't toddle around the living room as a baby. He has never been able to go outside alone, go into the bathroom independently, or get out of his bed without someone there to assist him. He has never felt the wind on his face as he runs through the grass on a spring day. His heart has never raced after a thrilling game of tag. He has never played hide and seek or climbed a tree. When I saw G's unblemished skin I saw all the absence of bumps and bruises he has missed out on because of his CP.
I may sound like a nutcase but I mourn the fact that I have never cleaned up a skinned knee or picked a splinter out of his little finger. Anyone with children knows that a typical child goes through hundreds of bandages. Some are necessary while others only provide comfort or serve as a badge of pride. I still have a vivid image of T sitting on the bathroom counter, his knee skinned and bleeding. He has tears running down his little face as I clean his boo-boo and cover it with a band-aid. I can still smell the disinfectant and the scent of a freshly opened band-aid. I don't have those memories of G.
I caught a glimps of G's scars as we rode in the car today. What will others think when they see them? I couldn't help comparing G's physical scars to the emotional scars we all carry. In the beginning the thing that caused the scar was painful. Slowly over time healing begins to take place. Soon there is a scar where the damage had been. At first the scar is very obvious but as time passes it fades and becomes less noticeable.
The scars on Sweet G's legs serve as a beacon of hope to me. They remind me that we have new possibilities in front of us. His scars show that he has been improved, stretched farther than in my wildest imagination. He stands taller and prouder than before. The progress he has made is amazing. We are moving in a new direction. Sometimes it gets lonely and a little scary but we stay together and find strength to make it through another day. Each day gets brighter as we move along knowing that we did the right thing even though it wasn't easy.
If you asked me the same question today I would say beautiful, amazing, healed, repaired, strengthened, improved. You may be asking yourself why my answer would be so different. The reason is simple. My Sweet G now, for the first time in his life has about 10 scars on his body. Up until his tendon lengthening surgery his skin was perfect, flawless.
The reason he had no scars on his body at almost eight years old is because of his cerebral palsy (CP). That may not make sense to you so I will explain. CP has robbed G of countless opportunities. He has never taken a step without physically holding onto something for support. He didn't toddle around the living room as a baby. He has never been able to go outside alone, go into the bathroom independently, or get out of his bed without someone there to assist him. He has never felt the wind on his face as he runs through the grass on a spring day. His heart has never raced after a thrilling game of tag. He has never played hide and seek or climbed a tree. When I saw G's unblemished skin I saw all the absence of bumps and bruises he has missed out on because of his CP.
I may sound like a nutcase but I mourn the fact that I have never cleaned up a skinned knee or picked a splinter out of his little finger. Anyone with children knows that a typical child goes through hundreds of bandages. Some are necessary while others only provide comfort or serve as a badge of pride. I still have a vivid image of T sitting on the bathroom counter, his knee skinned and bleeding. He has tears running down his little face as I clean his boo-boo and cover it with a band-aid. I can still smell the disinfectant and the scent of a freshly opened band-aid. I don't have those memories of G.
I caught a glimps of G's scars as we rode in the car today. What will others think when they see them? I couldn't help comparing G's physical scars to the emotional scars we all carry. In the beginning the thing that caused the scar was painful. Slowly over time healing begins to take place. Soon there is a scar where the damage had been. At first the scar is very obvious but as time passes it fades and becomes less noticeable.
The scars on Sweet G's legs serve as a beacon of hope to me. They remind me that we have new possibilities in front of us. His scars show that he has been improved, stretched farther than in my wildest imagination. He stands taller and prouder than before. The progress he has made is amazing. We are moving in a new direction. Sometimes it gets lonely and a little scary but we stay together and find strength to make it through another day. Each day gets brighter as we move along knowing that we did the right thing even though it wasn't easy.
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